The rules
by Julie Verne
Summary: Post PP2. Beca and Chloe have rules, but Kommissar is immune to these. Originally a one-shot, now a three-parter. Completed and updated.
1. The Rules

Beca and Chloe have rules.

* * *

You have stupid rules, rules that mean that you can body tackle Chloe to get under her umbrella, but can't hook your hand in her elbow to keep you both under that umbrella as you walk. You can share a tent with her, but you can't put an arm around her to keep yourself out of the rain. It has to hover a few inches from her side as you jog awkwardly, sideways, leaning too far into her but still not touching.

There's a reason you were so struck by Kommissar. You hadn't felt a touch like that since The Rules, since you started dating Jesse. It crumpled you to your core, and you knew Chloe was right there, could feel the hurt and confusion radiating from her but because you have these stupid rules you can't even remember what Chloe's hands feel like on your face any more; you have no grounds for comparison here. You just know you haven't been touched like this for far too long, haven't felt like this for far too long.

* * *

At Worlds Jesse's in the crowd. Of course he is. An overnighter with Chloe? Of course he has to come too. He's the reason you're sharing a room with Fat Amy. Here, and at the Bella's sanctuary.

* * *

Chloe is allowed to stand behind you, pressed up against you so close that you can feel her exhales on the back of your neck, you can feel her breasts pressed against you, feel the hardening of her nipples. But you can't turn your face to her because she's too close, and if your nose bumps hers, that's a boundary you've crossed that you can't take back. If your lips were to meet, that would be on you. So you stare straight ahead, ignoring the hand that she rests on your back to steady herself, to pull herself closer to you.

She's allowed to hold you as she pushes past you on a log, while you try desperately to keep your hands off of her warm and slightly sweaty skin. You try not to lay an open palm on her, unless she offers a five. Then it's just rude, right? But her waist, her shoulder – anywhere you would want to touch her, even casually, you can't.

Chloe is allowed to play with your hair, if it's in your face. It's always in your face; you make sure of that. Or, apparently, if you're trying to sleep.

Chloe is allowed to tell you she regrets not experimenting more in college. And you can't say a word.

The look on her face when you babble complinsults at Kommissar almost makes you even.

* * *

Chloe is allowed to dance with you. It would make the Bellas nearly impossible if she wasn't. But at the afterparty, with Jesse watching, Kommissar dances with you in the way that Chloe is not allowed to any more; not if it isn't for a show. Her hands wander the way Chloe's do and you revel in it because this isn't breaking the rules and it feels so, so good. She's not Chloe so you don't have to stop her. Her hands are soft and cinnamon fills your senses and you can forget about the stupid rules. When she pushes your hair back from your face, you can lean your head into her hand. When she pulls you closer, you can steady yourself with a hand on her shoulder, which slides down to her waist, the skin so soft but the muscles firm and taut underneath. When she cups your face, you can forget about everyone else in the noisiest event you've ever attended.

You made all these rules about Chloe. You never thought you'd have to make them about someone else.

Kommissar smells like cinnamon, but she tastes like raspberries, and when she kisses you it makes every other kiss pale in comparison. Her lips are so soft and yielding, and the words so harsh are more than made up for by her tongue so gentle.

And then Chloe swoops in, grabs you out of the German's grasp. She pulls you away, only to envelop you in her own embrace. She claims you as her own in front of Kommissar, with her hands, her eyes, and eventually her mouth. She dances close, runs feather-light touches from hand to shoulder, then from shoulder to waist, and from there, waist to chest, and chest to face. Her lips brush your cheek, her nose nudges yours and her lips press so lightly against your own that you're beginning to believe you could be hallucinating the entire Copenhagen trip.

Kommissar storms off, followed by a crowd of Germans. Your knees give out and Chloe holds you upright by the belt loops of your jeans. It feels more practical than sensual but now that Kommissar has gone, there is no point to her charade. You were a damsel in distress, and now that you're been rescued your friendship can resume normal services. She pulls you tighter against her and sighs. She says something, something about Jesse but you press your lips to her neck, rules be damned because this moment is slipping away and you can say later if questioned, that you too slipped.

* * *

There's a reason these rules were made.

The look on Jesse's face is enough to remind you.

The way that one kiss with Chloe completely eclipsed every moment you spent with Kommissar is more than enough to remind you.

* * *

And now that Kommissar has stormed off into the crowd, Chloe actually has to pick you up and carry you back to Jesse because your legs don't work; nothing works. Those few moments you hang limp in her arms as she carries you like a baby through a moving, dancing crowd are burnt into your memory. She says nothing, but the warmth of her makes your eyes close. You want to remember this, the way your head rests against the soft cushion of her breast, her pulse fast beneath her skin. It's the closest you'll ever get to her heart. She deposits you in his arms, and he nods his head in thanks.

You don't need to touch her to feel the rhythm of her heart. It transmits wirelessly to your own. Your skin, where it was pressed against her, tingles. Chloe tastes like coconut; you'd always wondered. She tastes like coconut and heartbreak. And still you haven't broken any rules, and you got to find out that Chloe tastes like coconut and kisses with the same kind of enthusiasm and intensity that she usually reserves for singing.

* * *

You have these rules. Because you feel so much, and she feels nothing.

Chloe doesn't even know about the rules.

* * *

Author's note: Beca just shies away from Chloe almost all movie long, almost like she had a rule about not touching her.


	2. What rules?

Beca was never really a tactile person, but you'd been working on that with her; albeit without her explicit knowledge. She'd learned, over time, how to let you watch her construct arrangements with your shoulder pressed to hers, sometimes even with your arms wrapped around her from behind, your head on your shoulder. If she complained, you'd remind her that she'd invited you over and it was late and that you could let go of her if she was fine with you falling off the bed because you fell asleep with no anchor. She accepted the way you would tell her, a little sternly, that it was time for bed, then steal a sweatshirt or band hoodie to sleep in and curl up behind her. She became used to the way your hands would rest on her torso as you slept behind her; some morning her palms would rest over your knuckles and you would have to excuse yourself before she woke, Kimmy staring at you suspiciously as you disentangled yourself from her gangly legs (how can someone that short be so gangly?) and bedsheets. She became used to the way your hand would slip into hers for encouragement during rehearsal, or onstage.

It took a long time for her to stop giving you weird looks. It took even longer for the day you felt her hand slip hesitantly into your own. When you looked up she peeked out from behind the curtain of her hair and you squeezed her hand, brushed her hair back from her face, tucked it behind her ear.

After that, you found her steadying herself with her hands on your shoulders, slipping her hands over your lower back as she brushed past. Just things women do when they're friends, but something Beca never did with anyone else.

Then she started dating Jesse and she stopped touching you.

It bothered you, that the palms of her hands never rested on you anymore. She let you touch her; she let you touch her anywhere, she'd probably let you touch her with a bear. But she froze a little every time, and she never touched you back, never acknowledged it and if you lingered she'd shrug you off with maybe a word about how weird you were. Sometimes, if it was dark enough, her eyes would flicker shut first.

* * *

You really did wish you experimented more at college. That was part of the reason you put off graduating for so long. 7 years and you still hadn't kissed a girl. Not even one. Sometime near the first ICCA, you thought that if you won you'd plant one on Beca, but she found Jesse straight away and your plans dissipated. You had some offers; you're very attractive. But the idea of experimenting with anyone but Beca felt unsettling. You knew what you wanted and wouldn't settle for less. And when you told her, you'd tried to set the mood as much as you could in a tent full of women but she shrugged you off, the way she'd been shrugging you off all year.

* * *

Kommissar wasn't anything special; to you at least. But once she came on the scene Beca was suddenly full of compliments she'd never spilled over you and a sexual confusion that you hadn't been the cause of.

You thought, for a while, that it meant something. That the way she didn't touch you meant something; you didn't know what it could mean, but it was a hopeful sign. Like maybe touching you was a temptation she could no longer handle if she wanted to remain loyal to her boyfriend. Seeing her act that way to a woman she was admittedly attracted to made you realize how wrong you were. She wasn't scared to touch her, she didn't flinch when Kommissar touched her. Maybe Beca didn't even like you any more. She barely speaks to you unless you physically bar her way out. It's almost like she's running away from you.

* * *

You thought when she came at you to share your umbrella things would be back to normal. She'd told you what had been bugging her all year and you can see why she didn't tell you. You couldn't tell her you were sorry so you told her you would graduate and you sang her song; the second song she sang for you, nervous and a little awkward but fully clothed and somehow confident with that cup that you keep in your room, on your bookshelf and stare at when you can't sleep.

You staggered backward a little as she barreled into you but as soon as she was balanced she withdrew again with a quiet thanks for your sharing of shelter. You have a hard time forgetting the way her arms felt around your waist. She retreats back into herself again, and as much as you remind yourself that she said she was a girl who didn't have friends who were girls, you can't help but think of all the time she used to grab at you when she lost her balance, and the way her hand now hovers near your elbow, then reaches around, but never actually touches you.

You wish she'd just talk to you. The internship was bad enough. Her withdrawal hurts more than it should.

You think about Jesse for a moment, and the timing matches up. Did he say something to her to make her self-conscious, or is she just so unused to physical affection that she can only give it to one person at a time?

* * *

When you see her with the German you actually flush with jealousy. You're standing next to Jesse, whose mouth drops open. He half turns to you, and you nod. This is something he cannot do. But you can. This is something you can do for Jesse, and also Beca, and also you. You can rescue her, and you can _claim_ her, albeit briefly.

You approach the two of them, joined at the hip and mouth. You tug Beca gently away with a glare at Kommissar, then run your hands over her. You try to keep your touch appropriate but the German is boring holes into you with her eyes, so you at least skim your hands over her chest (she's so _soft_ and you've thought about this so much and she's not protesting, just watching you with hooded eyes about three shades darker than normal) before gently pressing a few kisses to her face, and then her mouth, your own heart beating pitifully above the pounding bass.

Her mouth is as soft as you'd imagined, and you'd imagined it a lot. You've done her makeup before, but the sensation of her lips against yours eclipses the memory of you fingers against her mouth. Her lips part for you, almost automatically, at the same time as her knees buckle. Her tongue – oh god, her tongue – it brushes yours and this, this is the most monumental moment you've had as a Bella. Forget Flashlight, forget World's, forget graduation. This is everything you wanted from the last seven years. She's melted against you, and you're melting too. You're vaguely aware of all the Germans storming off and you realize, from where Jesse's standing, there's no further need for this supposed charade. You keep her upright, hold her against you and her lips slip on your bare shoulder for a second and you hear her say something about damning the rules.

She's so floppy that you end up picking her up and carrying her like an infant to her boyfriend's waiting arms. For a moment you don't want to give her back to him; you want to keep walking, to take her back to the hotel and teach her to touch you all over again, teach her how to bear your touch like she used to. And maybe kiss her some more. But you deposit her in his arms, because you are no part of this. Jesse nods his thanks, then helps Beca stand.

You would have carried her all night.

It doesn't matter. You've graduated, and you kissed a girl. You kissed _the_ girl. Your night is done. You leave the afterparty and send a message to Beca, asking simply 'What rules'?

* * *

Author's note: was planning on a one-shot but a review asked for Chloe's POV so here it is.


	3. cups

It's so embarrassing the next day. Fat Amy helped you to bed, and you cried all over her. It's so embarrassing because all Chloe did was kiss you and you all but collapsed. You could pass it off as too much to drink, but Kommissar had already kissed you and your knees had remained stable and the moment you get the message reading 'What rules?' you know you're screwed.

You're with Jesse; that's why you made those damn rules in the first place.

'can't touch u', you send her.

'I'm sure you're physically capable of touching me,' she sends back, needlessly formal. It makes you unaccountably nervous, even though she strives for grammatical correctness in her texts.

'not mentally capable,' you send back. 'not if i don't want to ruin things with Jesse. Or u.' You're being honest, too honest, and this is a conversation that you should have with Jesse before you have it with Chloe. Then again, she's the only one to notice what's been going on for two years.

Then again, she's not the only one you've withdrawn from.

'How would touching me ruin things?' Chloe texts back, and you sigh and run your fingers through your hair.

'i pretty much passed out when you kissed me. is that a clue?'

'Happens to everyone :P' she sends, and suddenly you're a bit mad.

'please don't. i can't do this. im sorry.'

'You're my family Beca, I can't just walk away when you're hurting.'

The word 'family' makes you throw your phone across the room, curl up into a ball and cry until Fat Amy comes back to the room and envelopes you with sympathy.

* * *

A few minutes later there's a knock on the door. It's Chloe, of course. It should by all rights be Jesse, but he's not here and Chloe is, Chloe, standing backlit by the hallway lights, her hair radiant, her mouth uncertain.

"I know you probably don't want to see me, but I bought these." Chloe holds up a couple of Styrofoam containers that smell like maple syrup. Fat Amy leans across you, snatches two of the three, says 'payback bitches' and wanders into the kitchen, presumably to eat. Chloe leads the way into the bedroom, sits on the bed that's obviously yours (discarded flannel strewn over the sheets, laptop open on the bedside table). You sit next to her, close but not touching and she cracks open the pancake box. There's a knife and fork in there, and Chloe cuts off a bite and offers it to you.

You shake your head. Your phone churps and it's a message from Jesse.

'what was that last nite?'

You nearly message back 'drunk and overwhelmed. sorry' but you keep backspacing. You think Chloe can see your phone screen but you're not sure. You make sure to angle it towards her before typing your new text.

'I may be gayer than I originally anticipated,' you eventually send.

'what does that mean for us?' he asks, and you love him, you do, but you look up and Chloe is pushing her hair back behind her ear with the most uncertain look on her face so you take the fork, take the pancake bite and hand the fork back.

You walk into the bathroom, lock the door and hit the call button. Roaming charges be damned, you're not doing this via text.

* * *

"Jesse. I tried to make sure this didn't happen," you tell him, ready for the accusations to start but he just sighs.

"Yeah, your rules. I appreciate that you tried, but Beca, Chloe is an amazing catch and I think I saw this coming."

"Wait, you knew about the rules? How did you find out? I never told anyone." You're freaking out a little; Jesse knew about this?

"I got back from that Sigma Theta Delta party and you were drunk, you showed up at my dorm and you told me I was adorable and you told me the rules. You seemed so certain that it was going to work that I didn't have the heart to tell you it really wasn't. I've seen the way you look at her. The way she looks at you. I just hope one day I find someone who looks at me like that." He sounds a little wistful.

"That's because you are adorable when you're drunk. And I trust you. And I love you. Are you sure you're OK with this? You just flew all the way to Copenhagen to basically break up with me. And you're doing it over the phone, which really defeats the purpose." Jesse laughs.

"Beca, we're both moving on after college. You know I'm moving a 5 hour plane ride away. I guess I wanted to get the most out of this because, well, you're amazing. And I'm sure going to miss you when you're gone, but I know you'll be in good hands. The best."

"I don't even know if she feels that way."

"The girl burst into your shower to force you to sing a duet with her. Naked. She wrestled you away from a very tall and intimidating German who, might I add, has also made me sexually confused which is weird because I already liked women. I think you got this, Beca."

"Thanks, I guess. Look, I really do love you. It's just… I don't shiver when you touch me."

"Oh yeah, she kissed you last night and you went down like a tree… I'm yelling timber," he sings, and that's the moment you know you'll be friends with Jesse forever. He's aca-awesome. "How was it?"

You sigh. You don't even have to words to describe how it was. "Pretty amazing, really. Can't believe it took three years. It took me way too long to figure it out. She's so… right."

You chat a bit longer, then he asks if you want to meet up for breakfast and you remember Chloe in the other room.

"She brought me pancakes," you whisper co-conspiratorially into the phone.

"Then go eat them with her, idiot! Get off the phone, I'll see you for lunch maybe?"

"Sounds good."

"Later BeCAW."

* * *

When you go back to the bedroom there are two pancakes left and Chloe hands you the box, stands up.

"I'd better go," she says.

"No, wait. We broke up." You set the pancake box next to the laptop.

"You don't seem upset," she says, a little confused.

"We're still friends. He understands."

"What does he understand?"

"That if one gorgeous and talented girl has to make rules about touching her almost equally gorgeous and talented friend, maybe the first girl should not be with the guy she's been dating for a few years but go and find that friend who makes the world stop with the palms of her hands on her shoulders." Chloe looks confused and you have no idea what you just said. "He gets it. Whatever this is. And if his girlfriend is so tempted by her physically flawless bestie that she spends two years awkwardly not touching her, maybe it's not going to work out in the long term."

"Beca, what are you saying?" There's a sinking feeling in your stomach. You know you're talking fast and making unnecessary hand gestures but you know she has to know what you're talking about so this has to be a rejection of sorts.

"I'm saying that I've been so attracted to you, so affected by your touch that since I started dating Jesse I had to stop touching you because I knew once I started I would never be able to stop. And that would be unfair on Jesse. And you. And me, because you have no idea what I'm talking about." You start digging at the pancakes with the fork.

"So if I were to…" she grabs your hand, intertwines your fingers, "that would be ok. But if I…" she lets her hand go limp, and you let it drop from yours. "I see."

"Well, not anymore, because there's no Jesse and no more rules." You take a deep breath and reach for her hand. You let your fingers drift between hers, then bring hers to your mouth. You kiss her knuckles, then raise your gaze to meet hers. Her breath has caught, and her teeth catch her lower lip. "Your hands are definitely softer than Kommissar's," you tell her, and she cups your face.

"I think I owe that woman a fruit basket. Or a toaster oven," Chloe lets out breathlessly. You just hum contentedly, nuzzle your face into her hand, close your eyes a little. She brushes some hair out of your face. "I wish you'd said something earlier."

"How do you tell someone that just _touching_ them makes you feel like you're cheating on your boyfriend?" You meet her eyes and she nods.

"I thought I let you know that you were part of my lady jam." You laugh and pull Chloe into a hug in which you can wrap your arms around her, rest your hands on her back, run them across her ribs. She smells amazing and she feels so good pressed up against you like this. It feels so good to trace the ridges of her ribs, the knobs of her spine.

"Jesse called me a Chlomo. I think he's right."

Chloe laughs at that, pulls away a little and brings a hand to your face. She brushes your hair back but the eye contact she gives you makes you feel as naked as you were in that shower your first week of college. When she kisses you, she still tastes like coconut, but also a little like maple syrup and home.

* * *

Fat Amy pauses on her way out of the room to snag a 20 from Beca's purse. She owes Cynthia Rose some money now, but Lily owes her. It'll all shake down in the end, because everyone loves a Bloe.

* * *

Beca and Chloe have rules. Stupid rules, like whoever takes the garbage out gets to choose the movie that night, like if Chloe cooks Beca does the dishes and if Beca proposes, Chloe has to say yes.

* * *

Author's note: Vegemite chocolate is a thing you should try if you can. I think this is the end?

The reason I picked up on the way Beca keeps her hands off of Chloe as much as she can is because I've been doing the same dance with a straight girl who's become very touchy and also very remindey of how straight she is. So I keep my hands off her, and any other straight women for that measure. So as soon as I saw Beca deliberately not touching Chloe, I thought about Jesse, and how Beca is self-assured but also uncertain and saw in that a reason for not wanting to touch one of her best friends; because it might negate every other touch in her life.

Hope you enjoyed, review if you'd like or can see this going somewhere else.

I work in the corporate world, by the way, and a man very senior to me came into the kitchen and started talking about 'that Glee movie' he got free tickets to and this is how the rest of that went.

"It was terrible."

"Don't you dare. You do not dare. _You're_ terrible."

"Worst movie I've ever seen."

" _You're_ the worst movie I've ever seen. That movie is made of rainbows and Anna Kendrick is a goddamn unicorn!"

And then I stormed out of the break room. I am still employed which gives grounds to Anna Kendrick actually being a goddamned unicorn. In other news I need less caffeine and codeine in the afternoons.


End file.
